There's Something Different
by Firetoflame
Summary: Sirius knows there's something different the day his best friend asks him if he looks alright. He hasn't asked him things like that since they were fourteen and waiting outside the girl's bathroom to gawk at Mallory Davis. And he doesn't see what the big deal is because it's just Tonks.


There's something different. Ginny knows this when Tonks stops changing her hair colour for fun. It starts the day Sirius and Professor Lupin are doing shots like dying men in the desert and her mum doesn't want her anywhere near them when they're like that, but she's fourteen now, and they're funny drunks.

Plus Crookshanks is lonely when he's cooped up in the kitchen under the watchful gaze of the Order because Hermione is secretly petrified that Kreacher might try to eat him, though she won't admit it because founding S.P.E.W means she's above such assumptions. But when Ron showed her the dead crows they had found in Kreacher's nest, Ginny knew: Hermione was scared of that elf. So she figures the least she can do is play with the poor thing and there's always more Butterbeer corks floating around once Sirius and Professor Lupin have been drinking for a while.

She slips into the kitchen relatively unnoticed, at least by her mum, who putters away by the stove, ladling thick dumplings out of the boiling soup broth and into another pot teeming with vegetables.

Ginny slinks down by the foot of the mangy couch against the wall, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears as she gathers the corks on the floor to her side.

"I wonder if she's inherited the same hair as her mother," Sirius says. "I've never seen it on her, but Andromeda, and all the black women really, were known for having the full, dark hair."

"Must be wear you get it from," Professor Lupin teases.

Sirius gives his head a shake. "Clearly. But, really, can you imagine a world with a Tonks who has plain old black hair?"

"I think it's more a light brown anyway, like her father. Or so she's told me."

"Huh."

"I prefer the pink anyhow. It suits her far more than anything as ordinary as brown."

Ginny looks up, finding Tonks standing in the doorway behind them. She winks at Ginny but turns with a flourish, leaving the men to their pondering and their drinking and eventually to their reminiscing of silly things that leaves Ginny's face flushed and has her mum ushering her upstairs with looks of warning shot at both men.

The next day Tonks shows up to headquarters with her customary pink locks. And the next day. And even the day after that. Not lilac. Not neon green. Pink. Like new flowers after the spring rain. Or the blush on a porcelain doll.

And as Professor Lupin smiles across the dinner table at her, Ginny sees the edges of Tonks' cheeks flush, almost the exact same shade as her hair, and Ginny wonders of this is the reason he likes the pink so much.

And if it is, she thinks he should tell her.

After all, when Ginny's own face went as red as her hair in the Burrow kitchen that summer her brothers brought Harry back in the flying car, Ron had no trouble telling Harry it was because she fancied him.

That git.

**. . . **

Molly knows there's something different when Remus starts showing up to breakfast late.

He's always been early before, often beating her into the kitchen and indulging in a quiet spot of tea before her own horde can descend from the upper levels.

But not as of late.

Now he's exactly on time for something else.

The moment Tonks stumbles into the kitchen for a spot of breakfast before she heads off to the Ministry. And she's always late, has been since her first day in headquarters, never making it to the morning meal before everyone else has finished. She's the one Molly has to set aside a plate for because her boys inhale food faster than they can speak, especially Ron, who she now needs to buy longer robes for . . . again, because there's just too much ankle showing. And she wishes he'd stop growing so fast and oh, she drops the soapy dish back into the sink at the approaching footsteps.

Remus slips into the kitchen, accepting the plate of toast Molly has saved for him with a quiet smile and nod of thanks.

He slides into a seat a moment before Nymphadora stumbles her way into the kitchen, knocking over a chair, and righting it with a swish of her wand.

"Sorry," she mumbles, sitting down in the same chair before she can do it again. "Bit tipsy this morning."

"Yes," Molly says. "What was in that fire whiskey last night?"

Tonks laughs. "Sirius took it off Mundungus so it's probably best not to dwell. Oh, thanks Molly," she says, sighing with satisfaction at the plate that appears in front of her. "I'm starving."

"Then I'll wait until after you've finished eating to tell you what was in the whiskey."

Tonks looks up at Remus under her lashes, head bent with a fork full of eggs half-way to her mouth. Her open mouth twists into a smirk. "Bollocks, now I want to know."

"Trust me," Remus laughs, and Molly isn't surprised to see the otherwise elusive smile break across his face. It's always there lately, especially at breakfast. "Eat while you can."

"The anticipation will kill me."

"In that case . . ."

"In that case what?"

"Maybe I won't tell you until dinner."

"But I wasn't coming to dinner tonight. A girl's got to do her laundry sometime." Tonks licks the edge of her fork and Remus swallows the rest of his tea, the mouthful barely squeezing down his throat. "Guess I'll have to come now. Thanks for the breakfast, Molly."

Tonks stands, squeezes the woman's arm and gives Remus the kind of cheeky, teasing smile that Molly knows she used to give to Arthur when they were young and falling in love.

When they hear Tonks trip over the umbrella stand while trying to Apparate out of the house they know she's gone.

Molly wipes her hands on her apron and turns to Remus, now quietly involved in the rest of the Daily Prophet.

"You know you could have just asked her to come to dinner," she says.

And when he looks up she knows he's about to deny it, but she gives him the same stern look that she gives to her children and he offers half a smile and a shrug. "Maybe one day."

**. . . **

Sirius knows there's something different the day his best friend asks him if he looks alright. He hasn't asked him things like that since they were fourteen and waiting outside the girl's bathroom to gawk at Mallory Davis.

And why fully grown Remus, who usually doesn't linger over his appearance, should care now when it's only Tonks that he's spending the night with—staking out potential Death Eater hide-outs—is beyond him.

Because, really . . . it's just Tonks.

Just . . . _Tonks_.

_Well then_, Sirius thinks. _That's . . . well, huh?_

And he's going through the motions, in his head of course, where he often goes a little crazy, because this is his best friend, but it's also his cousin. And he thinks he should say something, like be a gentleman, but he knows Remus is, and he also knows Tonks could probably knock him flat if she wanted to. So he gets over that and wonders if he should do the brotherly thing and warn Remus not to hurt her, though he knows he would never. Not intentionally.

He sips his drink to buy himself time. Death Eaters don't make the most romantic of backdrops to this potential romance, which he supposes in just the price of war.

And if they have to go to war at all, he thinks knowing that two people he cares about are a little happier is really worth it in the end.

So he doesn't caution or tease Remus the way he might have fifteen years ago.

Because this thing they have is new and precious.

And sort of wonderful.

So he scans him quickly and nods his head. "You look good, mate."

Which he does, especially when Tonks arrives, because all Remus can do is smile like she's the sun that fills his world.

And Sirius excuses himself for a moment, sipping his drink in a quiet corner of the library, because it's exactly the same way James used to look at Lily.

**. . . **

Mad-Eye knows there's something different when he looks through the kitchen wall and sees Lupin kiss Tonks square on the lips, his hands tangled in that vividly pink hair.

They're standing in the otherwise abandoned library, having slipped away from dinner for obvious reasons, which did not entail dealing with a Boggart after all.

He coughs and clears his throat.

"Okay, Alastor?" Arthur asks. "Another drink?"

Mad-Eye holds up his flask. "Still fine, Arthur." Though he thinks he should consider topping it off with something stronger when he gets home.

He also thinks about doing the polite thing and turning his back, but really it's fruitless because everyone knows he can look out the back of his head.

Plus he's still deciding whether or not he's going to hex Lupin to his seat when the two of them unglue their lips and resurface for air.


End file.
